Boston Underworld: The Collection

by A. Zavarelli

  It’s only the beginning, and even after my punishment is handed down, I could still be sentenced to death. At the end of the day, it is the pakhan I have offended, and he is who I must answer to.

  “Is there anyone who would like to speak on Nika’s behalf?” Viktor asks.

  I am not surprised that Mischa is the first to stand. His eyes cut to mine as he testifies to my character, offering both my flaws and positive traits, and the loyalty he feels to me as a brother. He tells several stories that portray me in a positive light, and I’m not certain I deserve his kind words, but I’m grateful for them nonetheless.

  “Thank you, Mischa.” Viktor gestures for him to sit down.

  The proceedings continue with testimonies from several of my Vory brothers, those who I haven’t managed to piss off in some way or another over the years. When they have finished, Viktor directs attention to the front of the room again.

  “Is there anyone who would like to speak against Nika?”

  The room is quiet, and I half expect several of the men to air their dislike of my character, but none do.

  “Very well, then.” Viktor adjusts his watch and loosens his collar, already preparing for what comes next. “You have heard the laws that Nika has broken. He has made a mockery of our code, and therefore, we must make an example of him. Every Vor must place his vote. Let’s start with Boris.”

  Boris tips his chin in my direction, a sign of respect. “I vote flogging.”

  The man next to him, an avtoritet, also nods in my direction. “Flogging.”

  The votes continue around the table, unanimous in their decision.

  Viktor signals to a bratok, issuing him an order to retrieve the wooden device reserved for such occasions. “The first punishment will be flogging,” he says. “Any nominations for a second?”

  Again, the room is quiet. After enough time has passed, Viktor nods, and I breathe. Flogging is not a walk in the park, but it could be much worse.

  The bratok wheels in the flogging station, and I take my place at the front of the room. Removing my shirt and tossing it aside, I step into position, facing the wooden crucifix. The bratok secures my wrists to each side, and my face rests flat against the wood as Viktor takes the whip in his hand. He will be the first and probably the worst.

  Not one to draw it out, he steps behind me and cracks the whip in the air twice, testing the distance and loosening his wrist. The third is the one to hit me, and it feels like a tree branch cracking over my back. My body jolts forward on impact, but the wood prevents me from escaping the blow. The only thing to do is grit my teeth and bear it, aware that this too is a test. Should I show any emotion or weakness, I’ll be sentenced to death without a second thought.

  Twice more, the whip comes down on my back, splitting open my skin and raining fire on the wound. When Viktor is satisfied with his work, he calls the next man to take his place.

  It requires a skilled hand to operate a bullwhip, and for this reason, the next Vor chooses the bamboo cane for his turn. Even though the sound is not as impressive as a bullwhip, the cane still feels like a punch to the kidney.

  The level of severity is different for each man who steps up to take his shot, and I’m certain it doesn’t last more than a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity. When I am finally heaved from the crucifix, it hurts to breathe. Several of my Vory brothers drag me to my feet and help me to a chair, and it’s all I can do to lean forward and brace my weight on my knees.

  There is no time for recovery. Viktor comes to stand in front of me, eager to finish the day.

  “You have insulted me, Kol’ka,” he says. “But worse, you insulted my daughter. And for this reason, I am leaving it up to Ana whether you live or die.”

  It’s a fair decision, but it doesn’t inspire any confidence that I’ll live to breathe another day. Ana is young, and she believes herself in love with me. She will likely be scornful from my rejection, and there is nothing else to do but wait for her decision.

  Viktor summons the bratok to bring her in, and he opens the door where she must have been waiting outside. Fighting the urge to pass out from the agony in my back, I look up as Ana walks into the room. Her face is pale, and her cheeks are pink, and she is uncomfortable with so many Vory eyes on her. But when her eyes find mine, the discomfort morphs to anger.

  Her lip curls in contempt as she moves toward me, and Viktor repeats what he just told us. It’s up to her to determine my fate.

  For a long while, she just stares at me. I’m not certain what’s going through her mind, and it would be out of turn to speak unless she asks me to. So I wait along with all my brothers to hear what she has to say.

  “Why did you pretend?” she asks. “Why did you come to dinners with me, and let me think …”

  Her throat bobs, and she swallows the emotion.

  “I’m sorry, Ana.” I hang my head in shame. “It was never my intention to hurt you. I only wanted to do what was right, but I should have been honest with you from the beginning.”

  Her chin quivers. “My father tells me you love someone else.”

  It’s a volatile question, but I answer it anyway. The truth is all I have left to offer her. “I do. I’m sorry that it wasn’t you.”

  She chews on her lip and squeezes her hands at her sides. “I hate you for what you did. I’m humiliated. You could have saved me this pain by being honorable.”

  “I know,” I agree.

  She looks at her father. “I don’t want to see him again, but it isn’t my place to take his life. Please don’t kill him, Papà.”

  Viktor’s eyes settle on me when he answers. “Very well, then. Nika will live to see another day. I only hope you can appreciate this gift my Ana has given you.”

  Viktor hands me a glass of whiskey and takes a seat across from me while the bratok cleans my wounds.

  The room has cleared, and now there is only one final item on our agenda. The most important item we have yet to discuss. I down my drink and reach for the bottle, helping myself to another.

  Viktor lights a cigar and leans back to study me. “Your Valentini girl is a snitch, and I want her dead.”

  I’d be lying if the thought hadn’t occurred to me. Every day, I’ve waited for the feds to show up at my door and arrest me. She had every opportunity to give them the ammunition they needed. I’d been careless during our time together, exposing too much of myself and the things that I do. I put my brotherhood at risk, but I believed in her loyalty. Perhaps it was falsely given, or perhaps this is what I deserve.

  “I can see how this might present a problem for you.” Viktor flicks his ashes onto the floor. “Given your lovesick condition.”

  “I can’t allow you to kill her.” It’s a bold statement, considering the circumstances, but Viktor humors me nonetheless.

  “She ran out on you. She betrayed you, yet you would still protect her?”

  “She snitched on Manuel,” I answer. “Not me.”

  “It speaks to her character,” he says. “A rat is a rat. And I wouldn’t hedge your bets just yet. You don’t know what she’s told them.”

  It’s true, but I still don’t believe she betrayed me. Not like that.

  “I know her character. She is loyal to those who deserve it. Manuel did not.”

  Viktor is quiet, and I worry that I’m too late. There’s no telling if he knows her location. If he already has men watching her. His resources are vast, and mine are not. I have left no stone unturned, but it does me little good if she’s in witness protection. She has a new name, a new life, and it isn’t with me.

  Viktor sighs and stubs out his cigar, leaning forward onto his elbows. “I don’t think you deserve such kindness from me, Kol’ka, but if you are determined to save her life, there is one other option.”

  I nod, anxious for the answer. “What is it?”

  “It’s a last resort,” he utters. “And in truth, you must be prepared to accept that she will not like it.”

  44
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  NIKOLAI

  “HAVE YOU FOUND ANYTHING?”

  Mischa grunts a useless response from the computer. “I can’t find anything when you are constantly hovering. The answer is no. They fucked up your entire surveillance system. Everything’s been destroyed.”

  I swallow two more painkillers and wash them down with vodka. It still doesn’t make sense. “How long would that take for a novice, you think?”

  He snorts. “It wasn’t a novice. They knew what they were doing.”

  “Nonna said they took her in a matter of minutes.”

  Mischa looks up from the computer, glancing toward the hall.

  “She’s not here,” I tell him. “She went to visit her sister.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “What?”

  “When did Nonna leave to visit her sister?” he asks.

  I try to recall, but everything has been blurry lately. “I don’t know. A while ago.”

  “Around the time you killed Sergei?”

  The implication makes my gut churn, but there is only one way to know for sure. I retrieve the calendar and look for the last note Nonna left with my messages. It was dated two weeks ago. The day after Sergei’s death.

  I want to believe it’s a coincidence, but now that Mischa has pointed it out, I can’t.

  “What she told you is physically impossible,” he says. “This would have taken them an hour to destroy, bare minimum. How can you be sure that she wasn’t working with Sergei? And the guard too? It’s difficult to know who he swayed. If he could get Katya to plant cameras in Alexei’s house, there’s no telling what else he did.”

  “Fuck.” I kick the bottom of the desk and fall back into the chair. He’s right. Everything he said is right, and I was too blind to see it for myself. “If it’s true, she’ll be in the wind by now.”

  Mischa shrugs. “Still couldn’t hurt to put the word out.”

  My phone chimes, signaling an incoming text message from Alexei. Mischa yammers on about Nonna, but I’m not listening. My eyes are fixated on the message. I read it three times over to make sure I’m not mistaken.

  “What is it?” Mischa asks.

  I hand him the phone. “What does it say?”

  He reads it silently before looking up, his face pale. “It says Talia is alive.”

  Mischa meets me outside the hospital room, his eyes cutting in front of me. “What is that?”

  “What?” I look down at the gift in my hands.

  “Did you bring an Aston Martin Stroller?”

  “He’s a Vor.” I shrug. “He should be riding in style.”

  Mischa wiggles the stuffed teddy bear in his own hands. “You make my gift look pathetic.”

  “That’s because it is pathetic.” I slap him on the shoulder.

  “I’ll get him a stripper and some vodka for his eighteenth birthday to make up for it,” he says.

  “Good luck with that,” I mutter.

  We walk into the room. Already, Talia is surrounded by other Vory visitors, and beside her, Alexei holds his son. I pause, almost feeling like I’m intruding on this moment as the new parents speak to each other in hushed whispers, gushing over their firstborn child.

  The natural chain of thoughts makes me think about Nakya. I think about what she would look like here beside me, my babies in her arms. It’s an empty fantasy, and I am grateful when Alexei breaks the spell and gestures me farther inside.

  Viktor whistles when he sees the stroller. “Very nice, Kol’ka.”

  “Limited edition,” I say. “Only the best for our newest Vor.”

  Alexei rises to greet me, and to my surprise, he reaches out to shake my hand. “Thank you for coming, bratan. And thank you for the gift.”

  “Of course.”

  There is an awkward moment of silence between us, but it’s a moment of understanding. Alexei isn’t just thanking me for the gift, he is thanking me for my help during the past month. But more importantly, he is forgiving me.

  45

  TANAKA

  “ARE YOU READY, Niki? You’re on in five.”

  I rise en pointe to test out my shoes. A hard-won lesson. “I’m ready. Thank you again for this opportunity.”

  Louis nods, his eyes moving down to my ankle. I know he’s worried it won’t hold up, and in all honesty, it might not. But I’m grateful he gave me a chance, even if it’s a small one. My days of being a soloist are over, but for tonight, I have a guest spot at the local ballet company, performing in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  One last dance.

  While my days spent teaching children are fun, it isn’t the same, and it will never be the same. My love for the ballet cannot be fulfilled through teaching. A dancer who can’t dance is as good as an artist who can’t create. I don’t know what my future holds, but I know that I’m ready to say goodbye to this chapter of my life.

  “Niki?” One of the stagehands waves to get my attention.

  “Yes?”

  “Someone left this for you.”

  My hand trembles when she offers me the solitary white lily. She smiles, and I think I smile too, but my mind has just gone from zero to sixty, and I think I might throw up. When she disappears back down the hall, I open the attached note, reading the words with deliberate care.

  Shine bright little star before you burn out forever.

  A tingling sensation expands my heart and out through my limbs. One lily. Alexei mentioned to me once that it’s considered bad luck to give anything but odd numbers of flowers in Russian culture. The message is cryptic, and it could be from any of the Vory. But the flower itself has meaning that can’t be ignored.

  In ballet performances, white lilies signify purity. It could only be from him.

  “One minute,” someone tells me.

  I need to think about so many things, but there isn’t time. I set the gift aside and take a breath. It’s my turn, and to say that I’m nervous as I make my entrance onto the stage would be an understatement. The last time I did this, it ended horrifically. But I can’t let that night stain this memory for me. Before I retire my shoes forever, I want to pay tribute to everything that ballet has given me. And if that note is any indication, it might be the last thing I ever do on this earth.

  I throw everything I have into the performance—body, heart, and soul. Magic is real, and it exists on the stage. Around me, butterflies and fairies twirl. Tinkers and tailors and weavers enter the fray, hair whipping and arms swaying as they perform their duties. Lovers quarrel, and a forest is born. Stars cross, and chaos ensues. Kings and queens fall, and I learn how to fly again. Leaping through the air with slicing jetés and bounding across the stage with the lightness of a feather. It’s the most painful performance I’ve ever given, but it’s also my best.

  Because I am free.

  Tears cling to my cheeks as the final curtain falls, and when I exit the stage, I’m limping but at peace. I collapse onto the closest chair I can find and bask in the adrenaline high. Several of the dancers congratulate me on a job well done as they exit the stage behind me, everyone buzzing with the excitement of our collaborative effort.

  “It appears that the angel has found her wings again.”

  Ocean eyes crash into mine, and his name exalts from my lungs before I can stop it.

  “Nika.”

  He smiles, and it feels like sunshine after an eternal winter. Everything else falls away, and there is only the chaos in my heart when I look up at him.

  “Come.” He holds out his hand for me.

  My relief falters. It can’t be him. I can’t look into those eyes as he bleeds the life out of me. He should have sent Viktor. He should have sent anyone else.

  “Do you no longer trust me?” he asks.

  “Should I trust you?”

  “Does it matter at this point?”

  I shake my head. It doesn’t. He’s here. He found me. And whatever he decides, my fate is sealed.

  “Come, zvezda,” he urg
es. “It’s time.”

  “What if I say I don’t want to?”

  His hand wavers, but he doesn’t retreat. “Then it would break my heart.”

  “I didn’t realize you had a heart to break,” I whisper.

  “Even monsters have hearts, my sweet.”

  I know it’s true because a monster lives inside me too. I take his hand, and his fingers close around mine.

  “You are sore?”

  I nod, and Nikolai wraps his free arm around my waist. We walk together, and he takes me into the room where the stage props are stored. Behind the larger-than-life trees and one-sided building displays, he corners me.

  When he touches my face, my eyes fall shut, and my chest heaves. He will probably strangle me. It’s an intimate way to die, and Nikolai is nothing if not intimate. He will want to see my face. Burn my skin with his fingers. Feel the last dull thump of my beating heart beneath his hands. His scent will be the last thing I breathe. His lips, the last thing I taste. And his skin, the last thing I feel.

  A fresh tear leaks from the corner of my eye, but it’s bittersweet. I’m afraid that even in death, he will find a way to haunt me.

  “Don’t cry, pet.” He wipes away the salty emotion with his thumb, smearing the evidence

  into my skin.

  “Will you make it quick and painless?” I ask.

  His body cages me in, and his lips hover over mine. “It will be painless,” he murmurs. “But it won’t be quick.”

  My heart leaps into my throat when he jerks me around and presses my face against the wall, his hands mauling my body as his lips come down on my throat.

  “Nakya.” He grinds his erection against my ass while his fingers slip down between my legs, cupping me through the leotard.